


1860s

by MKYouth



Series: Western AU [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Country & Western, Not Beta Read, Runaway Tubbo, Running Away, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27210586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKYouth/pseuds/MKYouth
Summary: “You are...?”“Tubbo.” He answers, “Tubbo Underscore, though dont think that’s an important part of me anymore.”---Tubbo runs away from home, taking shelter in SBI's barn.
Relationships: Eret & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Niki | Nihachu & Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: Western AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987324
Comments: 7
Kudos: 325





	1860s

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in my notes app at 12AM, excuse any spelling errors!

He reckons the dust in his forehead nearly doubled by the time he finds himself at the old town's friendliest cabin. He’s in the outskirts of a far off town, having taken a random wagon as far as he could from his home. His hat, he’d paid his hat for that ride, the nice lady in the back having seen his small rucksack with the tattered nature of his clothes. She’d pitied him, and he’s darn glad she did.

The boy couldn’t tell you what had led to his decision to run away. Maybe it was how empty his house felt every day, rickety wooden walls whistling with every flow of the western wind. Maybe he’d decide to blame it on the lack of education he’d been given, education that would get him nowhere with his dreams. Back at home he’d learned only a few things. How to handle a horse, how to scrub the floors, how to read a sentence or two— and the hypotheticals on raising livestock. 

Of course, the most livestock they’d taken care of out in the desert was the family horse and a few sad chickens. 

Nevertheless, he’d paid a nice lady his hat; and in exchange the blonde woman dressed in blue took him all the way to her destination, a town a good few weeks away from his own home. When they arrived he’d insisted to the lady, Niki he’d learned she was named about paying the few nickels he’d had in his bag to her but she’d denied the offer countless times.

So now he was at the kindest home. Or so he was told, once they’d arrived Niki had dropped by the local saloon and visited old friends. He’d taken this opportunity to ask around about where to go.

The bartender, named Eret seemed to have an answer ready right away. He’d called it the sleepy household, and the boy dressed in a tattered green shirt supposed that to be the family's surname. From the back of the saloon had yelled up another man, Fundy he’d come to know; screaming about the talented Wilbur, the powerful Techno, the loud Tommy, and the reliable Phil. 

Niki’d shushed the orange haired man, and Eret gave him direction to the home. 

He remembers the words clearly,  _ “Go to the pointed church building, walk left _ — _ it will seem far but the home right on the outskirts will be theirs. You’ll know it by the green door.”  _

He’d waited no time to get walking; time wasn’t going to wait for him, and he’d known the deserts around here not to be too forgiving at boys who wandered around at night. 

So here he stands in front of the green door, faded enough to be the same color of his shirt. Brow dirtied with dust and rucksack held tight in his hand, fist hovering over the wooden door, hesitating a knock. He counts in his head... 

One... 

Two…

Three...

  
  


He knocks four times, a pause after two. There’s a long silence and still in the world around him after. Though he ignores it in favor of staring directly to the wood. Feeling as if any movement to look left or right would completely skew his world, he’d hoped one of the four members would answer the door soon. 

His silent prayers are answered soon enough, when the slight noise of banter rises from behind the door and the ruckus of people walking around sounds and brings peace to his worried heart. There’s a rumble in the door, and the hinges flung open. 

His eyes find the shirt of a taller man, and he finds himself rising his gaze at just a slight to meet an obviously older man.

“Sleepy?” He asks, a slight nerve to his voice. 

The man snorts, pulling at the side of his green striped hat— and boy that color was prominent on the man's entire get up.

“Sleepy, dear god is that what I’m being called these days— It’s Phil, call me Phil.” 

He nods, tightening his hold around his bag. 

“You are...?” 

“Tubbo.” He answers, “Tubbo Underscore, though dont think that’s an important part of me anymore.” 

He’d left a note on the kitchen table, written in broken English and the worst handwriting he’d personally known someone to have. It wasn’t his fault though, there were a plethora of issues that’d led him to that. His mother never taught him much, and his town hadent invited him to the schoolhouse whatsoever— his parents valued labor over education, and it seemed the teacher didn’t want to make room for a farmers boy either. 

Toby ‘Tubbo’ Underscore, that was what they’d called him. At this point, Tubbo felt more like a name than the other two ever had.

Phil raises a brow at him— and Tubbo coughs, “I was hoping you’d let me work at your farm. I don’t have a home, or much of an education sir; and I’m told your family is the most forgiving around here.” 

The older man takes a step onto his porch, Tubbo moves to the side. 

“Work on our farm, eh? I’m willing to let you have a shot. You seem like a talented young man, what do you want for pay?” 

“Pay? Oh I just need a home while I make footing in the world sir, I can hunch out in your barn over there,” Tubbo takes a glance at the red painted building, he can see the flaking of the old paint job from here, “or an extra room if you have it. I suppose a meal would be nice too, I can take scraps.”

Phil nods, “I’m sure we can get by fine with that, is that all you own?” 

Phil gestures to the small rucksack, Tubbo shrugs. 

“It’s all I was willing to take.” 

“Hm, well, I’ll set you up with a blanket for the night. It can get awfully cold, and I’ll have one of my sons send over a meal when the time comes; it seems the sun to be setting already, how the time flies.” Phil sighs, looking out to the distance, the faint silhouette of the small town looking rather pretty with the painted skies above. 

Tubbo finds himself focused on the farm, though, the various livestock seeming to graze about the half grown areas surprising him to say the least; he’d not seen this much in one place before, guess she’s lucky he’d considered himself a quick learner in that field. 

He turns to Phil, “That’s fine with me sir!” 

“Ah, don’t call me that. We’re friendly around here.” 

“Ok... Phil.” Tubbo mutters something about formality under his breath. 

Phil disappears back behind the door and quickly returns with a woolen blanket, sending Tubbo to the barnhouse and retreating from where he came. 

Dusks is a pretty thing on a fine night like this, and sitting on the rafters of the barn house, so far from his old home; Tubbo believes he’d never trade this view for anything else in the world.

* * *

Tommy’s his name. 

Tommy, he’d heard it yelled front Fundy— the redhead called him loud. Tubbo only assumed that meant hot headed, compared to the traits his brothers were given. Tubbo is assumed to mean nothing good. 

Loud, aggressive, full of himself. His mother said to never judge a book by its cover, but Tubbo wasn’t given any kind of synopsis to work with. 

Though, watching the boy wander over with the lit torch illuminating a perfect circle around him had left him wondering who it was, it’s not like Tubbo knew who any of the Sleepy Boys were. To him, three of the four were simply words in his mind; the unfiltered thoughts of a loud drunk man at an evening rush of a saloon. 

When he’d arrived at the entrance did the barn, pulling open the heavy gated doors with his boney arms he’d been closed off; hesitant; Tubbo’d call the behavior outright rude if it wasn’t for the fact he decided to stick around while Tubbo ate the scraps of their family meal. 

They’d watched each other like new dogs in a pound. Never pulling a gaze away for too long, not engaging but keeping a strong interest in the other. It wasn’t strange, Tubbo had thought it to be oddly intimate. He’d never been around people his age in any way, really, and this was like an odd experience of that.

He’s assumed Tommy to be his age, he was a bit tall; but then again Tubbo hadn't considered himself the tallest of the bunch either. If he was older than him he’d have left by now, younger more talkative. 

He was neither. So they sat in cold silence, Tubbo finishing up the scraps of the food and going for the mason jar of water. 

“Where are you from?” 

The question is sudden, spoke fast. 

“Pardon?” 

This time, Tommy says it slower. His voice tinged with annoyance, “Where are you from?” 

Tubbo thinks it over, “A little south, a good few weeks over.” 

“Why’d you leave?” He questions, Tubbo finds a small note of malice in his voice, but he doesn’t find himself scared by it. 

“There’s nothing for me there.” 

Tommy leans back on the pile of unsorted hale. Expression as blank as Tubbo images a person can be. 

“Tubbo right?” He asks, though it feels more like a statement than a question, “How old are you?” 

Tubbo sets the plate down to the floor, praying in his head for a lack of rats in this barn, “That’s my name! 16.” 

“Tommy, 16.” 

There it was. Tommy, not full of himself, didn’t seem all that hot headed or loud. Tubbo did think this a special interaction for him, wasn’t all that friendly like he was told this family to be, not all that loud or scary.

“I hope I can serve you all well.” Tubbo whispers, dragging his gaze away from the other and to the packed dirt floor. There was little noise now, the animals all packed up being in their pens behind them, all fallen asleep. The desert scene only interrupted by the noise of distant crickets and people themselves, but at this late time no one but them would be up way out here. 

Tommy shakes his head, “That’s weird, don’t say that.” 

“How so?”

“You’re a runaway, If your treat yourself like a sheep dog you’ll be one. You’re not the first guy to come around here like this,” He mutters, fiddling with a piece of hay between his fingers, “people make lives, if you don’t... get out you're just gonna get stuck.” 

Tubbo sniffs, “That’s an odd way of thinking.” 

“You’re an odd way of thinking.” 

“Thanks.” 

They fall into a much more comfortable silence. 

Sitting here, with the night atmosphere. Cold biting at his ankles and hay scratching at his thighs through worn pants. Tubbo thinks about life, his future, and what’ll happen next. 

There isn’t much to do in a town, he’d felt that to be an issue for most of old life, tied to a rundown home, doing chores for hours on end. He’d felt like a stranger surrounded by people he’d grown up with, people he’d lived with for years. Maybe taking himself to a place where he truly was a stranger wasn't the best choice in that matter, maybe the people would see him as an outcast for his years spent cooped up in this family's farm. He couldn’t imagine it though, Niki, Eret— even the rowdy man at the corner of the saloon had been welcoming.

He glances up at Tommy. 

Phil was nice enough, Tommy was a bit prying but Tubbo could understand. What would you do if a stranger had come to your home and decided they’d stay? It was an odd thing, but something about the way Tommy talked about it made it seem he’d done this before (and maybe it was how he’d mentioned others starting here, he wonders who, and where they are now.). 

Tubbo thinks about the other two. He wonders if they’re in anyway the same. 

He decides he likes it here already, and maybe he was a stranger, maybe no one would trust him. He finds himself alright with that. 

“Is it always like this?” He asks Tommy, feeling a sense of comfort fall on him. 

“Hm?” 

“Is it always this quiet, this... serene?” 

Tommy raises a brow, “I wouldn’t say so.” 

Tubbo doesn’t push. 

It’s the little things he enjoys, a fresh start comes with a lot of those. 

He likes it here— and right now, that’s all he needs to be happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this spur of the moment oneshot, drop a kudos if you enjoyed and maybe... maybe leave a comment! I love those.


End file.
